The Trouble With Colds
by Xellossity
Summary: When Xemnas falls ill, what turmoil will brew among the ranks of Organization XIII? This is a story of revenge, insubordination, and a far fetched science fiction premise made real. The narrator apologizes for the lack of hyphens in the summary.
1. I Don't Get No Respect

Disclaimer: Organization XIII belongs to Square Enix and Disney, not me.

The Trouble with Colds

Chapter One: I Don't Get No Respect

By definition, Nobodies lack hearts. This is repeated so often in Kingdom Hearts and its fandom counterparts that it is nearly impossible to overlook. Often ignored, however, is the fact that most Nobodies have fully-functional respiratory systems. The narrator says "most" because, in the context of this story, one Nobody's respiratory system fails to be fully-functional, thus condemning him to his bedroom. (He generally prefers the name "Chamber of Naught", but the narrator chooses to overlook this fact.)

Subsequently, the story switched to past tense, panning the reader's mental cameras around a room littered with used tissues and empty bottles of water. The air was thick with tension, though of course it could have been the personal humidifier sitting on the dresser. In the center of the room was a bed covered in luxuriously thick blankets and sheets, all of which were colored black, white, or one of various shades of grey. An inhuman moan escaped from underneath these bed-coverings, as did a hand, groping around the bedstand for yet another tissue.

Quietly, the door of the Chamber of Naught slid open, causing the hand to dart back under the covers. A slightly louder, more reprimanding groan came from the lump on the bed that was once considered a member of Organization XIII.

"Superior, I have something for you," said the hooded figure that now stood in the open doorway. "It should help."

"Mmph."

"Assuming that was a yes, I will proceed."

"_Mmph-mm_."

Twitching slightly, the figure turned to the bed again. "If you wish to communicate, Superior, please do so more clearly."

A head slowly emerged from the covers, its hair flying out at strange angles. Dark bags lay under its red, running eyes. These eyes were not the eyes of one who wanted to communicate more clearly. They were the eyes of one who wanted to run several large, lightsaber-oid energy beams through whoever dared disturb his sleep.

"Well?" The offending figure tapped his foot impatiently.

"Mm-what ish it?" slurred Xemnas.

"Medicine."

"And you say it will help?" The Superior began to gain more control over his tongue.

Removing his hood, Vexen nodded. "I assure you, it _will_ help."

"Leave it on the nightstand, Vexen. I'll drink when I am ready."

"Understood, Superior."

The Chilly Academic did as he was told, and upon leaving, closed the door slowly so as to keep from disturbing the lump formerly known as Xemnas. Tiptoeing back down the stairs to the main floor of the Castle that Never Was, he let out a sigh of relief. He had managed not only to deliver the Superior his medicine, but to do without running into-

"He-ey Vexy! Finally got out of your cave, I see."

-any of the more..._irritating_ members of the Organization. Swearing under his breath, Vexen halted.

"What's the matter, Vexy? Experimental-insult-to-nature-mutant-feline got your tongue? Say, that's too bad."

Vexen whirled around to face the source of his annoyance, his eye twitching. "Vexy? _Vexy?_" he snapped. "Is that your idea of a joke?"

"Does it look like I'm laughing?"

"As a matter of fact, it _does_." Vexen narrowed his eyes, motioning to the other's quivering shoulders.

"Then you didn't need to ask, did you?"

Choosing his words carefully, Vexen advanced on his foe. "Might...I remind you...that..._I_...am your superior, Number Eight?"

Axel cocked his head in mock-curiosity. "_And_?"

That was it. _That_ was the last straw. Vexen felt a rant coming on, a tirade of _epic_ proportions. His pupils narrowed and he stretched himself to his full height. "Axel, Number Eight, Flurry of Dancing Flames, insubordinate little twit, _whichever you prefer_," he added, a sneer creeping across his face, "have you been told of the origins of this organization?"

Leaning against the banister of the stairwell, Axel sighed. "Yep."

"Good. We're making progress. Now, have you been informed of the _motives_ of this organization?"

"To fully complete Kingdom Hearts, regain our own hearts, and thus become truly real," Axel recited, imitating Xemnas's extravagant hand motions for good measure.

"I am not amused, Axel, but I will overlook that for a moment if you answer me my next question: Do you know what the members of this organization need to do for it to _achieve_ this goal?"

"Gain control of the Keybearer."

Vexen grinned maniacally. "Ah, and _that_ is where you are incorrect. You see, before any group, much less our organization, can achieve anything, there must be order. Order stems from rules and guidelines laid down by leaders, or _superiors_. You see where I'm going with this? Without leadership, this organization will fall into chaos. If this organization falls into chaos, we will never be able to get a hold of the Keybearer. If we never gain control of the Keybearer, we won't be able to complete Kingdom Hearts. Are you listening? 'Cause this is the _important part_. If we never complete Kingdom Hearts, we will not get our hearts, and without our hearts, WE. WILL. NEVER. EXIST_. EVER._ Do you understand, you dolt?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Axel waved a hand dismissingly.

The Chilly Academic stared down his nose. "I don't think you were listening."

"Actually, neither do I," Axel replied with a grin.

"I'm afraid you misunderstand, sir. If you were not listening, then I may have to _repeat_ myself."

For one second, Axel was caught off-guard. He took a step backward, pupils shrinking, and was forced to catch himself on the balustrade against which he had been leaning so casually moments before. For one _long and glorious _second, Vexen felt that he had won.

Unfortunately, it was still a second, and Axel regained his composure as soon as he had lost it. Vexen glared down at him, his face contorted with indescribable emotion. Or, rather, Vexen glared down at him, his face contorted with an _attempt_ at indescribable emotion so as to show Axel how he _would_ look, had he possessed a heart, and therefore, real emotions. Either way, to the untrained eye, Chilly Academic looked as if he wanted to teach the Flurry of Dancing Flames the true meaning of pain. He turned swiftly on his heel and strode back to the safety of his basement laboratory, slamming the door behind him.

---

Meanwhile, on one of the upper floors, Saix leafed through a thick, hard-bound textbook about child psychology. If they were to gain the Keybearer's trust, Xemnas believed, the Organization would need to know how his and his friends' minds operated. Dog-earing his current page, he set the book on the short, spindly table that supported both his reading lamp and his enormous mug of coffee. He glanced out the darkened window absent-mindedly and wondered where, or rather, _why_ Zexion had ever gotten a hold of such an obscure text. He also contemplated the puzzling remark the Cloaked Schemer made as he had pressed the book into the Diviner's hands: "Take it. _You_, of all members, will need it."

After a pause, he shrugged and returned to his espresso.

---

In the Laboratory Where Nothing Gets Done (as Axel and Larxene had so affectionately dubbed it) Vexen sat, hunched over his notes. He muttered angrily to himself, occasionally crumpling said notes and, with a growl, tossing them into the wastebasket. Several hours and full wastebaskets later, he sat back in his chair and sighed.

"Is my mental anguish _truly_ thatamusing to you?"

Zexion nervously averted his eyes, preferring to stare into the paperback novel he had brought along simply as a diversionary tactic. It worked, sending Vexen's glare creeping to Lexaeus, who had taken up residence on a sturdy countertop. The Silent Hero's hulking frame, silhouetted by the glow of the dangerous chemicals kept on the back shelves of the lab ("Just in case," Vexen had said.), shrugged, and he scratched the back of his head guiltily.

"It depends on your definition of 'amusing'. For example, Zexion and I are very easily amused, especially when it comes to you and your over-reactions to the insubordination of the younger members."

Vexen forced down a sudden urge to strangle the larger man, replying icily, "I appreciate your _honesty_, Lexaeus."

Zexion looked up from his book long enough to drag a foreboding finger across his throat, clearly stating: _And _I'd_ appreciate it if you'd keep your big mouth shut, lest Vexen have to deal with the inconvenience of dumping two large, nobody-shaped blocks of ice out with his scrap paper._

Lexaeus got the message.  
---

Every afternoon, around four o'clock, Xigbar headed downstairs to the kitchen to get a snack. _Nearly_ every afternoon, around four-ten, he was thrown out of the kitchen by a very disgruntled Zexion wielding a steak knife. During his detailed studies of the rest of the Organization, Axel had noted this, but he passed it off as a bit of useless information.

Today, however, he realized just how useful it would be. Zexion was still in the laboratory; he would never find out. This plan was perfect, _flawless_.

"Hey, Xig!" Axel grabbed onto the doorframe of the Breakroom of Nil and leaned into the hallway.

Xigbar halted mid-step and spun to face him. "Axel! How's it going?"

"Fine, just fine. Listen, Xigbar, could you do me a huge favor?"

Xigbar raised an eyebrow. "You gotta tell me what it _is_ before I can say yes."

"Aww, don't you trust me?" His voice was thick with false innocence.

"To be honest, man, I don't trust you one bit."

"Good man." Axel snickered. "Fine, I give. I'll tell you what the favor is."

"You'd better."

"When you go down for your snack raid, and I _know_ that's what you're doing, could you pick me up a bag of chips?"

"_Done_, little dude. But you owe me."

"Yeah, yeah." Axel dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Less talking, more raiding, Xiggy."

---

Zexion's head snapped up from the book. He sniffed the air experimentally, looking from right to left and finally up to the ceiling. Swearing under his breath, he shoved the novel into his pocket and stood up with nearly enough force to knock his aluminum folding chair over backwards. He stormed out of the lab without saying a word.

The Cloaked Schemer broke into a run, the rubber soles of his boots squeaking against the impeccably-clean and freshly-waxed floors of the Castle that Never Was. The air rushing past his face ruffled his hair, tangling it even further than usual. His coat, unzipped from the floor nearly to the waist, flapped as he ran up winding staircases, around corners, through a door or two (nearly crashing headlong into Saix, who had left his chair only to refill his massive coffee mug), and finally down a long hallway. One lone door stood at the end of said hallway: the door to the Kitchen of Empty Dishes. Zexion sped toward it with fury rivaled only by a woman scorned.

Throwing open the door with a loud slam, Zexion spotted his prey. Xigbar had his back to him, but Zexion could tell that he had already violated the unspoken Law of the Kitchen: One was not to steal food, unless one was prepared for a fate worse than death.

Xigbar turned, and Zexion could now see that he held three bags of potato chips and a two-liter bottle of soda. He smiled slowly and waved, disappearing into a portal of dark energy.

_Why_, thought Zexion spitefully, _does Xigbar have to be the one who can teleport? Why?_

Xemnas had found out about this incredibly convenient method of transportation a few weeks ago, and it was just beginning to catch on with the rest of the Organization. Possibly because of his power, Xigbar had been the first one to truly master it. Zexion, however, had difficulty using the portals from the start. He soon discovered that it was the sort of thing that one learned from practice, as opposed to study.

With a long sigh, Zexion realized that it was time to prepare dinner. His revenge on the Freeshooter would have to wait until later.

---


	2. Turnabout is Fair Play

The Trouble with Colds

Chapter Two: Turnabout is Fair Play

The Kitchen of Empty Dishes was filled with steam and the sizzle of a tomato-based sauce heating on the stove. Zexion, smiling slightly, noticed that the pasta was beginning to boil. He removed the tall, metal pan from the heat, turning the dial back to zero, and sent its contents through a colander, separating the boiling water from the pasta. He then deftly spun on his heel, just in time to save the sauce from burning. Reaching toward a rack on the wall, he removed a small knife, which he then used to chop herbs, possibly basil, into small, manageable bits. He added these to the sauce, stirring with a wooden spoon. All of this took place within seconds.

Zexion was indeed "in his element".

Unfortunately, the culinary ballet was interrupted by a slow creak: the kitchen door. A shadow fell over the stove, indicating that whoever had entered was at least a foot taller than the Cloaked Schemer.

"Hello, Vexen." Zexion's eyes never left his work.

"Good afternoon." The man's voice took on the snide quality of one who had a very large and interesting secret, but preferred to make small talk. "Pasta tonight, I presume."

"You presume correctly." Zexion hated small talk. "Now tell me _why_ you are here, or I will not hesitate to force you to leave."

Vexen nervously eyed the knife in the younger man's hand. "To be perfectly frank, _revenge_."

"Suddenly, I'm interested. Please continue."

"I was just going to ask if you could add a..._seasoning_...to certain members' dishes." He held out a vial of white powder.

An eyebrow rose. "This seems rather rash, don't you think?"

Vexen remained silent. Silent and smiling.

Suddenly Zexion understood. He had seen this coming, but he didn't expect Vexen to snap quite so soon. "On one condition."

"And what might _that_ be?"

Both men were grinning now. "That I will be permitted to _'season'_ Xigbar's meal as well"

"Agreed."

---

"Axel, you are _terrible_." Larxene snickered, as she reclined further onto the couch (if possible). She was currently upside-down with her head against one arm-rest and her feet against the other. One arm draped over the side of the seat, nearly brushing the ground.

Her companion was perched upon a sturdy desk, his feet dangling. He held a few potato chips in one hand and a Styrofoam cup of lemon-lime soda in the other. (Axel had always preferred cola, but he wasn't going to force Xigbar to risk the kitchen again. Not only would it be dangerous for the Freeshooter, it would take too much effort on _his_ part.) "Am I really?"

"Hah! You know, Vexen's going to lose it eventually."

"So?"

"I _wasn't finished_. Vexen's going to lose it eventually, and _I'm_ going to tell everyone that it was your fault." Larxene smirked, pulling herself upright to face Axel.

"Excuse me? _My_ fault?" he said, gesturing to himself with a flourish. "You've been here for maybe a quarter of the time I have, and you've nearly broken my prank-record."

"Have I, now?"

"_Yes_, yes you have. And we _all_ know how I feel about people who mess with my records." Axel set down his cup, and in a burst of flames, summoned one of his chakram.

The narrator feels the need to take a break from the action to explain Axel's motives for this sudden display of aggression. However, for this to happen successfully, the narrator will be forced to employ the tried and true "Flashback Sequence". The narrator warns the readers to refrain from flash photography during the flashback, as, in most cases, taking pictures of a computer screen is not only pointless and idiotic, but also more expensive than it is worth.

The narrator also requests a fog machine. No, not in _here_, you fools, out_ there_... _yes, _in the flashback scene. Remind the narrator to lower your paychecks next month.

---

_It was the sixth day since Demyx's arrival, and he had already proven himself to be a bit of a heavy eater. What irked many was that both he and Axel had the strange ability to devour large amounts of fattening food, but never gain weight. If anything, they were even more slender than those who __**did **__watch their figure, namely Marluxia. _

_On this day, however, the two were not content just to share a box of donuts. Oh no, they felt the need to compete over it. _

_"Alright, Dem, here are the rules: You and I both raid the fridge for leftovers. Whoever can finish the most plates is the winner, got it?"_

_"Sure! What's the prize?"_

_"The donuts, moron. I thought we already settled this."_

_"Oh, so did I. I just wanted to make sure you didn't change it like...you know, last time."_

_To avoid layering flashbacks, the narrative will give a brief overview of what happened "last time". All that truly needs to be said was that the punch line was, "And you win...__**nothing**__!" Axel always had been fond of loopholes, no matter how far-fetched._

_With Zexion's reluctant permission, the contest began. Axel started out ahead, simply because he had gone for the plates with the least food. Soon after, the tide of battle began to change. The few onlookers (namely Xigbar, Zexion, and Luxord) realized that Axel was starting to lose momentum. Demyx, on the other hand, just kept eating...and eating...and __**eating**_

_In his defense, Axel stuck it out until the very end. Every creature, though, has a point where it absolutely cannot eat any more, unless it is looking to re-enact a certain infamous Monty Python sketch. The Flurry of Dancing Flames discovered this point when, in the most undignified way possible, he became acquainted with the cold tile of the kitchen floor. _

_"Wake up, dude."_

_"Uhn..gh..."_

_"Du-ude."_

_Axel wanted to make a crack about sea turtles, but he lacked the energy. "Xigbar...what are you doing?"_

_"Trying to revive you! That was one impressive faint, man; I almost thought you weren't gonna wake up!"_

_"I...fai-__**howmanypeoplesaw?**__"_

---

"Geez," Larxene chuckled. "No need to get all worked up about it."

---

The door to the Library of Unwritten Text swung open, caught by a black-gloved hand just before it slammed into the wall. The owner of the hand followed suit, bringing with him an intolerable air of smugness, or rather, false-smugness. His lips curled into a self-satisfied grin as he sauntered into the comfortably spacious chamber, approaching its two other occupants, who were currently engaged in a high-stakes card game.

"I got the snacks." The Freeshooter tossed his load, two bags of potato chips, onto the nearest open reading-table. They landed with a soft crunch.

"Excellent." Marluxia glanced up from his hand, his eyes half open (he believed he looked far more menacing that way). The ever-present cloud of petals circling his head renewed itself with new-found intensity, throwing a number of the garishly pink floral satellites out of orbit.

"Sweet merciful Darkness!" Luxord swore, throwing his cards down roughly. "I believe a pactum was stated at the beginning of the game, Assassin: those horrid petals were _not _to interfere with the game!"

"I do recall something like that, Luxord, yes…" The Nobody trailed off mysteriously, or at least in a way he believed was such.

"Then _get them off the table_!"

Marluxia's lip jutted out ever-so-slightly. "Fine, then," he relented, his voice like that of a reluctant child. He then snapped his fingers, and at once all of his loyal servants stood at attention, including some that had floated behind the bookshelf some weeks before. With a flick of the commander's wrist, they marched into formation and fluttered out of the library, though not without making a few spiteful rounds about Luxord's head.

Xigbar fell comfortably into a thickly-padded chair and reclined to the point where only two of its legs touched the ground. He said nothing; it _was_ a library after all. Of course, it was rather uncommon to eat or play card games in most libraries as well, but it just added to the oddity of the situation. For you see, dear readers, the competition that took place between the walls of the Library of Unwritten Text was more than the average friendly game of poker or Go Fish. It was a game where the results were almost as important to the two players as their very non-existence. It was a game of Radiant Garden Swap.

Radiant Garden Swap was one of the most complex, high-stakes, and potentially humiliating games ever known to man and nobody alike, second only to strip poker. Unknown to our two combatants, it was first created by Braig one lazy summer in Ansem's research facility. It had _technically_ been summer vacation, so Ansem had significantly decreased the daily workload he gave his apprentices. In the words of the well-known proverb (and often Even), "Idle hands are the devil's workshop." Braig's hands were no exception; he soon began work on a game that was eventually described with more elaborate curses and swear words than the narrator ever cares to repeat. _It_ was the real reason Xigbar had ended up as Number II in the Organization.

The Freeshooter closed his eyes and smiled again. _This was going to be interesting_.

That sentiment could not have been closer to the truth. As the literary camera cut to a view over Luxord's shoulder, the readers caught a view of what could be described as the Nobody's worst nightmare, the moment he had dreaded for the entirety of his non-existence. For the very first time since Luxord adopted the title "The Gambler of Fate", luck was _against_ him. He was in possession of the worst possible hand in the game.

Marluxia, peering over the top of his cards, noticed that Luxord's well-trained poker face was beginning to fade. The Gambler's brow furrowed as he scowled down at the unfortunate hand. The pink-haired Nobody's lips curled into a smile. This, _this_ would be the day he finally got the recognition he deserved.

Radiant Garden Swap was named such for a good reason. Before every game, the each player was required to lay down a forfeit for the other to perform if he or she loses. This forfeit was required to be based around a swap or switch of some sort, which was one of the main reasons Axel rarely played. He hated to lose any of his possessions, even if it meant that he would gain something even more valuable.

In the case of Marluxia and Luxord's card game, the forfeits were interesting enough to keep Xigbar amused. If the Assassin lost, Luxord demanded that they would swap bedrooms in the Castle. Not only was Marluxia's room closer to the Organization's one and only television set that had reliable satellite, but it also had a very nice view of the city from the balcony. Luxord didn't even _have_ a balcony.

However, if the Gambler lost the game, the stakes were far more influential. If the Gambler lost the game, Marluxia would be one step closer to his conquest of the Organization. If the Gambler lost the game, the two Nobodies would swap _ranks_.

Luxord could **not** let that happen.

Unfortunately, he mused as a drop of sweat ran down his neck, it was _going _to happen...unless he thought of a way to turn the tables. His eyes darted from left to right, trying desperately to find a way out of the situation, some sort of excuse. Nothing.

Xigbar chose that moment to open the first bag of chips.

Suddenly, as if Fate had decided to have mercy on its namesake, a scream tore its way through the air. It started out a deep, rich baritone, but with a squeak, it shifted abruptly into a range known only to boys' choirs (and occasionally Freddie Mercury). It was a scream of undeniable horror and anguish, a scream the likes of which no self-respecting human or Nobody could hear without being affected on a very deep, primal level.

More importantly, it was coming from the Superior's room.

Without missing a beat, Marluxia and Luxord threw down their cards and began to run towards the doors of the library. Together, they slammed the heavy doors open, forgetting any past squabbles or competition, and sped towards the center of the castle. It was the location of the Tower of Unending Height and, at the tower's summit, the Chamber of Naught. Only one thought filled their heads: _The Superior is in danger._

That thought was mirrored throughout the castle, calling the members of the Organization to forget whatever it was they were doing and come to Xemnas's aid. The squeaking of boots echoed through the hallways. Weapons were summoned. Blurs of black leather swung around corners, through doors, under archways...all in a mad dash for the tower.

It was Zexion who reached the staircase first. It was an impressive glass affair, looking much like the spiral staircase from the opening FMV of Kingdom Hearts II, except that it, instead of floating, was supported by thin, white pillars. Very minimalist. Very Xemnas.

The Schemer was not there to marvel at the architecture, however. He and Vexen leapt over the banister, not wanting to waste time finding the real entrance from the seventh floor. The two of them began their climb up the seemingly unending flights of stairs, Vexen finding reserves of energy he never knew he had. Adrenaline kept the Nobodies running, but willpower kept them looking up and thinking, "Hah! You think another three hundred stairs are going to faze _**me**_?"

A strained, feminine shout came from below. "Hey! You two got any idea what's going on?"

Glancing down through the glass below them, the two could see that Axel and Larxene weren't far behind them. "None...whatsoever," Vexen gasped, realizing that it was difficult to speak and run at the same time.

Sensing this, Zexion began to talk for both of them. "I've never heard the Superior scream like that." He, like Vexen, had to take a couple breaths before he continued. "In addition, his scent...changed. It's still him, but-"

"What?" Axel interrupted, his voice raised. "I can't hear you! Speak up for once, Zexy!"

Zexion sniffed conceitedly, but did as he was told. "I _said_ that his _scent_ was _different_!"

"How do you know it's him? It could be one of the Dusks!" Larxene questioned with disbelief.

Vexen, despite respiratory weakness, felt the need to interject, "Impossible! What kind...of Dusk..._screams_?"

"Oh, he's got you there."

"Shut it, Axel." Larxene delivered a swift blow to his upper arm.

"Ow, dangit..."

A distant, accented exclamation rose up the stairwell. "Oi, the four of you know anything about what happened to the Superior?"

"Nada!" Axel called back, still nursing his arm. He could give pain, but he certainly couldn't take it.

"If we did, then we wouldn't be up here, would we?" Larxene snapped. "Oh, and hey, Marluxia," she addressed the other as an afterthought.

The Assassin said nothing; he was too busy trying to get ahead of Luxord. As soon as the initial shock of Xemnas's shriek wore off, his old competitive habits returned. He wasn't going to let Luxord win this race. _Not a chance_, he thought as he glanced over his shoulder with a smirk.

At long last, Vexen and Zexion reached the top of the tower. They both took a moment to catch their breaths, panting and wheezing as they held onto the safety railing. Reluctantly, they leaned upright and continued their dash toward the Chamber of Naught.

Soon enough, Axel and Larxene caught up to them. The two younger, more physically fit members of the Organization had to slow their pace to run alongside Zexion and Vexen. With a raised eyebrow and a cocked head, Axel challenged the wearier two to speed up. He got exactly what he wanted. For the final stretch of the race, the four traveled like a pack of wolves on a hunt, every member's step in time with the rest.

The unlikely band slid around the last corner, black coats swirling around their ankles dramatically. At the end of the hallway, they could see the seven-foot-tall, ornately decorated door to Xemnas's chamber...and the Nobody standing in front of it, his hand gripping the doorknob. Xigbar.

Axel hit the door first--literally--the textured soles of his boots not enough to slow him completely. "XIG! Open the door!" he exclaimed, panting. He had the visage of a madman: hair disheveled and eyes wide.

"No can do."

"_**'No can do?'**_ What do you mean, 'No can do'? The Superior might be dying in there!" Axel looked seconds from raining fiery destruction on not only the offending Nobody, but any others in the immediate vicinity.

"Listen, the door's stuck. Something must be holdin' it closed from the other side," Xigbar replied. _Rather nonchalantly_, the narrator might add.

"WHAT?" the four shrieked in unison.

Suddenly, Marluxia, shortly followed by Luxord, slid around the corner and ran to join them. Lexaeus, having run all the way from the basement laboratory, brought up the rear.

"What's going o-"

"_Thedoor'sstuckandnowwecan'tgetintohelptheSuperiorwhosurelymustbeinjuredor__**dead**__bynow_," Vexen re-capped shortly.

"Ah."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Will someone just break the door down already?" Larxene complained, folding her arms and jutting out a hip.

Zexion raised his eyebrow(s?). "Lexaeus, will you do the honors?'

"Gladly." He closed his eyes in concentration, backed up a few steps, and flung himself at the locked door like a battering ram.

Nothing.

"_Nothing?_" They repeated the prose in disbelief.

"What_ is _that racket?" a booming voice echoed through the hallway. Eight heads turned slowly to face the approaching terror. They were met with a sudden, chilling gust of wind and more harsh words. "Honestly, how am I expected to get any sleep when you delinquents keep disturbing me?"

"Y-yeah! What he said!" stammered Demyx, peering out from behind Xaldin's hulking frame. He took a few steps forward, trying to make his stance as imposing as the Lancer's, but failed miserably.

With a dignified sweep of blue and black, Saïx entered the hall. He provided a stark contrast to the quaking Demyx, who was currently trying to put as much distance between himself and the other two Nobodies as possible. His gravity-defying hair looked just as neatly groomed as when he had first woken up that morning; it was nearly impossible to guess that he had just been sleeping just as soundly as the other two. "That scream sounded like our Superior," he stated bluntly.

"And indeed it was," Lexaeus told him.

Vexen decided that it would be the right moment to step forward. "I speak for all of us when I say that we apologize for any _disturbances_," he snapped, "but I believe that some assistance from the two of you would be _greatly_ appreciated."

"Hey, the_ two _of us?" Demyx inquired indignantly, motioning to Saix and Xaldin. "What am I, chopped liver?"

Zexion spoke quietly, but his voice cut through the uncomfortable silence like one of his treasured steak knives. "No, but you will be if you don't keep your mouth shut."

With a nod, Xaldin slowly approached the larger group. "What exactly do you mean by 'assistance'?"

Axel nudged Vexen out of the way. "He _means _that he wants you to help us break this door down." With a toss of his head, he indicated the space behind him. "Lexaeus here _just_ couldn't cut it."

Glancing over at the Silent Hero, Xaldin cocked his head as if to say, "You're kidding me, right?"

Lexaeus bowed his head in embarrassment.

"Well I, for one, cannot provide much force without the moon's assistance, and I have observed that this floor has a severe lack of windows," Saïx asserted.

Axel just smirked. "Lex?"

"With pleasure." Seconds later, several hundred pounds of solid stone crashed through the roof of the Castle that Never Was, tearing a hole that led straight to the sky. Moonlight streamed through the new opening.

With a nod of approval in Axel and Lexaeus's direction, Saïx stepped into the moonlight. He threw his arms out in a show of (slightly unneeded) dramatics, and is body began to quiver. His pupils contracted to the point where they were nearly invisible, and the yellow-gold color of his irises spread across the remainder of his eyes, giving them an otherworldly glow.

Everyone took several steps backward.

A manic grin spread across his face, twisting his features into those of utter madness. Lexaeus and Xaldin silently prepared themselves, sliding against the wall to a point approximately as far from the door as Saïx. With a bellow, the Diviner drew his claymore and began his charge toward the entryway to the Chamber of Naught. The other two mirrored his actions, not thinking about failure, not thinking about how much it would hurt to slam head-first into the incredibly thick block of carved wood that Xemnas used for a door, only thinking about going faster. And faster. And _faster_.

In a moment worthy of the finest action movies of our century, the door broke down. No, not "broke". _Disintegrated. _Thin splinters of wood flew through the air, one nearly impaling Xigbar's other eye. Numbers III, IV, and VIII tumbled into the Chamber, springing to their feet as soon as they hit the ground. There would be no time to lose. Who or _what_ever had caused Xemnas to scream like that could still be in the room. Xaldin quickly surveyed his environment, and to his relief, saw nothing. _Nothing. _Realization hit him like one of Lexaeus's aerial boulders.

He called back frantically to the other nine. In a burst of flames, lightning, water, ice, flowers, and other assorted theatrics, they came to his aid. (By then, the room was a shambles.)

"Where's the monster?" Larxene inquired, taking a quick glance at the surroundings. Her daggers were still at the ready.

"That's just it." Xaldin began to back toward the wall, his head jerking around nervously. "There _is_ no monster. There's absolutely nothing here that could have caused that scream, not even-"

"Not even the Superior," Luxord finished. "It does make a man suspicious."

"Yeah, it does..." Axel trailed off, ruffling his hair with a hand.

A quiet whimper came from the direction of the closet.

"Did you-" Lexaeus began, unsure.

"Yeah, I did. And I'm going to figure out what it was." With a burst of flame, Axel summoned his chakram. He and Larxene approached the closet slowly, each step seeming to echo against the white marble tiles that covered the floor. The rest followed suit, not knowing what horrors surely awaited them.

"Well?"

"'Well' _what_, Larxene?" Axel snapped.

"Well, is anyone going to open the door, or are we all just going to be _cowards_ and sit around?"

Everyone slowly turned their heads to look at the Savage Nymph, who then directed their glances toward the Nobody next to her, a sadistic grin plastered on her face. There was a deafening silence. Unable to take the pressure any more, the target of their attention began to speak.

"Oh, _sure_! Make _Axel _risk his non-existence against the unknown enemy that may or may not have killed the Superior. _He_ won't care. _He_ doesn't have a heart!" With an animalistic glint in his eye, he reached for the doorknob. "But if I get out of this alive, I'm going to murder every last one of you in your sleep."

With a click and a creak, the door was pulled open. Fluorescent light poured forth from the widening crack, and thirteen heads craned for a look at the room's contents. What they saw stayed burned into their memories forever.

It was the Superior, but not as they had known them. For one thing, he was backed against the wall of his expansive walk-in closet, eyes wide in a very skilled imitation of panic.

For another, he looked about fifteen years old. His dark skin was dotted with blotches of acne, and his proportions were oddly long and lanky. He gripped two glowing red beams tightly, his knuckles turning white from the effort. The Organization's uniform, a tailored black leather coat, hung in folds around his once-muscular arms.

It is impossible to say for sure who began the laughter. Many of the narrator's sources have told her Larxene, but certainly not all. A number have said Marluxia or Demyx, and one even gave his guess as Lexaeus. What they all agreed on, however, is that someone started laughing, and despite all science and logic, the others joined in. The odd paradox lasted for nearly three whole minutes. Throughout, many of the more mature members caught each others eyes questioningly, shrugged, and collapsed into hysterics yet again.

"_**QUIET!**_" Xemnas was tired of this...this _parade_ of immaturity. He had only been away from his post for one day, and the Organization was already collapsing.

The other eleven sobered immediately. Even in this state, Xemnas was terribly imposing. One question remained in their minds, however, one that was stated by an awe-struck Xaldin.

"What, in Darkness's name, _happened_?"


End file.
